Of Piracy, Powers and Epic Man Pain
by PinkBomberJacket
Summary: Pirate! AU Charles Xavier is taken captive upon the mutant pirate vessel Hellfire, led by the infamous Captain Shaw. He is forced to become cabin boy for the ship to protect his fellow captives and sister Raven, and finds himself oddly drawn to the pirate put in charge of integrating him, a mister Erik Lensherr... Charles/Erik fluff, angst, future M rating, Raven/Hank, Logan/Scott
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

When Charles Xavier awoke that morning, the taste of sea salt on the roof of his mouth and the sun stitching its way across the shifting wooden boards, he did not have the vaguest interest in pirates. Charles had thought that the subject of swashbuckling thieves upon the high seas belonged in the same realm as faerie folk, dragons, and mermaids; tales to tell unruly children as a warning of the dangers of not going to bed.

As he was kicked in the back of the knees, legs buckling and hitting the deck of the ship with a burst of pain, Charles was thoroughly reconsidering his previous apathy towards piracy. The acrid smell of smoke and burning tar filled the air, making his eyes water. He kept his head low, heart pounding in his chest and fear clinging to his skin like blackberry thorns. From behind his curly fringe he tracked the movements of boots as the ship pulled away from the burning carcass of the merchant vessel. Bile rose in his throat at the sound of a metallic slice and someone choking on their own blood, followed by a deep splash. He shrank down into himself. That poor soul. He knew without even having to look that the waters below were steeped in red; that limp, pale hands seemed to reach out of the sapphire depths. He could see it from the eyes of several blood-thirsty monsters. Charles peeled his mind away from them and focused upon ignoring the sticky wet heat on his sleeves and the coppery taste that invaded his mouth every time he licked his swollen lip. He could sense the presence of about eight other captives around him, but the cacophony of thoughts and violence was dizzying and he hadn't the strength to delve in further.

"That's the last of the humans." A woman's voice rang out over the jeering horde. Charles could see her white lace-ups as the paced in front of him. Slow. Leisurely. Authoritative. The scraping of metal erupted as numerous weapons were sheathed.

"Excellent."

Charles heard a faint "oof" next to him and felt the brush of a familiar pair of shoulders next to his. Relief filled his body. Charles tilted his head slightly in Raven's direction and felt her hand brush tentatively against his own. He took it with what he hoped felt like a reassuring squeeze and tucked it underneath his sullied blue coat. He drew strength from her survival. No matter what happened, no matter how bad it all got, he was going to get Raven out of this mess. She was going to be the one of them to survive if it was the last thing he managed to do. His resolve was set.

A set of strong footsteps made Charles raise his head. The heaving mass of cut-throats had melted back behind the new presence and the white-shoed woman standing at his side. The realization that this man was the captain was instantaneous. It was written in his every movement, his strong shoulders and forbidding stance. His face was mostly hidden behind a strange silver helmet that reminded Charles of his Greek history studies, but the man's cold smile and icy eyes positively glowed from behind it. They filled Charles with a leaden feeling of dread. The man was clad in pristine white finery, from his boots to his breeches to his iridescent overcoat. It seemed out of place on the ship, especially with his blood soaked and filthy crew standing behind him like dogs on a chain. The captain stared them down, teeth bared grotesquely. Charles stifled an uncharacteristic shiver as he knelt in the sunlight. 

"Welcome aboard the Hellfire, my friends. My name is Captain Sebastian Shaw. Do not be afraid. Your liberation and salvation has arrived." He paused, seemingly choosing his words.

"You have been chosen by fate to survive, due to your… unique skills. You are amongst friends here. We aboard this ship are like you." Charles blinked in disbelief. The man raised his right hand, conjuring from nowhere a swirling ball of… of _something_ that radiated power in waves. The woman at his side shimmered briefly and then changed, her fine features becoming crystalline. Charles looked further back, toward the crowd of miscreants, where yet more marvels were to be witnessed; a man extending his tongue to wrap around the mast pole; hands bursting into flames, and others to ice; one man became four identical men; tornados erupted to the starboard without so much as a whisper of wind on board, disappearing just as suddenly. Charles could practically hear Raven's jaw hit the deck. _We're not alone_.

"We are here for the same reason as you are. All of us here have for too long been rejected, feared and reviled by those below us, forced to hide who we truly are because the masses are not ready for us. But no longer. We fight to take the seas as our own because together we are strong, and we raze all who oppose us. First the oceans, and then the lands. We will take the world for ourselves, and we will no longer be crushed under the soles of the mediocre and unworthy. We will be liberated, and we will dominate. And so I must ask you, my friends. Who amongst you will join me?" With this, the captain extended a hand.

Silence.

Charles felt Raven's hand fidgeting in his own, and he squeezed it firmly. _No_, he projected. _This is not the life that you want, Raven. _He felt her hand relax in his. The whisper of fabric came from behind him. The captain bared his teeth again and motioned for the unknown to step forward.

"Excellent! What is your name, child?"

A dark skinned youth who Charles recognized as the cabin boy apprached, jaw set.

"Armando, sir." His voice gently lilted with a Barbados accent.

"And what is it that you can do, Armando?"

"I adapt. I change, sir, to suit my environment." Charles could see the child's thin hands shaking. The captain beamed.

"Wonderful! Welcome, Armand-"

"That is not why I stood up though, sir." The captain's smile vanished.

"I stood up to respectfully tell you, sir, that I will never join you. I will never serve a man who butchers people just because they do not understand something. You wear white, sir, but it does not hide the red. You are knee deep in the blood of innocents, sir, and I can not wade in there with you." Violent whispering broke out amongst the crew, which was stilled with the raising of a single white-sleeved hand. Charles didn't need to have telepathic abilities to know what was going to happen next.

"Cover your eyes, Raven, please, look away," he hissed frantically, as the Captain reached out. He rested his hands on the boy's shoulders, and his face looked disappointed.

"Are you sure, child?" Armando nodded. He gasped, body suddenly going stiff, and with a faint orange glow the child seemed to _turn to dust_ before their very eyes. A faint gust of wind breathed across the deck and stole the boy's remains away. Charles felt Raven's pain as she bit down on her hand to stifle a scream.

"Such a shame," said Captain Shaw, brushing his hands together distractedly. He looked up at the remaining captives.

"Let that serve as a warning to the rest of you. Until you should choose to join us in our noble cause, you will be kept in the brig. Away with them." He turned on his heel, the blonde woman following him with a faint rustle of her rather unconventional gown. A striking young man stepped forward, hand on the hilt of his sword.

"You heard the captain!" he cried, and Charles detected the faintest colouring of an accent before Raven's hand was ripped from his and she was dragged backwards with a shriek. Her blue silk dress tangled around her as she fought against the hands of some slimy braggard with too much gall.

"Let go of me! How _dare_ you-" Charles himself was dragged to his feet from behind. He saw the filthy hands grope at his sister's corset, saw him laughing and leering, and all thought scattered under the glare of untempered fury.

"Don't you _dare_ manhandle my sister!" He wrenched one arm free from his captor and swung, heard the surprised grunt as his elbow connected with a nose with alarming force. People always underestimated his slight frame for weakness and frailty. It was one of Charles' best qualities, as far as he was concerned. He launched himself at the fool laying his hands on Raven, heedless of his own sister's cries and the shocked exclaims from the crew behind him. Charles tackled the man to the ground, straddling his chest and snarling fiercely. He landed one good punch to the smug man's face before being hauled off him by several of the crew. He struggled against them, desperately trying to loose an arm, but he was pinned between them. The man stood up, blood running from his nose like a horse from the gate, and Charles hadn't realized how meaty the man was. He was built at the approximate size of a late adolescent rhinoceros, and his hoof-like hands were curled into fists the size of dinner plates. The man swung one straight into his gut and Charles had to fight the urge to throw up his intestines as they vacated the offending area. Lights swam in his brain. _This is how I die,_ he thought vaguely, as the man raised his fist again.

"Stop!"

It was the young man from before. The people holding him up abruptly let go and for the second time in less than half an hour Charles' knees hit the deck, shortly followed by his hands. A set of boots entered his lurching line of vision, strong and solid and dark.

"What happened here?" Charles could all but hear the hands on the hips. They'd probably be rather curvy, curvier than a man's would normally be. A small chorus of mumbled grunts seemed to explain it sufficiently to the man, whose reply was,

"It is not up to you to decide the punishment of prisoners, Mr. Marko, and you would do well to remember that. Now get back to your posts or we will take this up with the Captain." Charles' mouth quirked up at one side and he spat a long string of blood onto the deck, manners be damned. He laughed quietly to himself and instantly regretted the movement of his torso. All of the air in his lungs was whisked away by the pain.

"I don't know why you are laughing," the man said down to him.

"I thought they were going to kill me." Charles replied when he finally had enough air again. He heard what could have been a sigh of exasperation or amusement from above, and then long-fingered hands were helping him to his feet.

"They probably still will, you know. You're probably going to get thrown overboard." Charles leant heavily against the man, and even in his battered state noticed the lean, wiry power of the man's torso, the warmth of his body against Charles.

"Oh well," he replied as casually as he could as he was led down a narrow set of wooden stairs. "At least I wouldn't need to worry about the future then. Life is hard, you know?"

There. That was legitimate amusement in the man's mind, though his face remained stony.

"You have no idea, _sie wunderschone narr…" _Charles would have snorted if he hadn't promptly forgotten what the man said, slipping instead into the friendly (and distinctly muscular) arms of unconsciousness.

***A.N. Comments, cheerleading and reviews keep little writers going!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Raven, calm down, he's not really dead, if he was dead they wouldn't have bothered to put him in the brig, they would have just thrown him overboard-"

"Oh, _thank you for that_, Hank! Charles? Charles! Please wake up, Charles, I promise I won't be angry at you if you wake up…"

Charles moaned miserably and curled his legs up, nursing his aching guts as best he could. Through the last clinging dregs of unconsciouness he took stock. His head was thumping like a brass gong was strung up inside it and being beaten by an overenthusiastic sumo wrestler. His lips, which were absurdly red for a man on an average day, were swollen to the point of becoming their own separate entity. The ground seemed to be shifting underneath in a nauseating motion, which could either be a result of his head or of the ship itself, he couldn't quite differentiate. A shrill but familiar voice scattered the last semblence of stupor.

"Charles? Charles, are you alive?"

"Mmmmmmmm-unfortunately," he mumbled. He realized he was sitting up, leaning back against something iron and very uncomfortable, and the ground was scattered with hay. His hands were bound. He heard what seemed like a sigh of relief, a pause, and then a hissing like a gas jet filling a hot air balloon.

"What. Were. You. THINKING, Charles?!" She yelled at him. "You could have been killed! Over something as stupid as that!"

"They still may, actually," he interjected helpfully, but Raven wasn't finished.

"What were you thinking?!" She repeated, voice escalating rapidly towards supersonic.

Charles lifted an open hand plaintively.

"I just…. They were being ungentlemanly towards you, darling, what was I supposed to do?" her face shimmered, blue scales climbing her pretty human mask, and her eyes flashed yellow briefly as she gagged on this information.

"Ungentlemanly? Un-bloody- _Gentlemanly_?!"

"There's really no need for such language, Raven-"

"We're not in _England_, Charles! Hell, we're not even in civilized waters! We are _prisoners,_ Charles. On a _pirate vessel_. There are going to be very few gentlemanly folk here!" She rattled the metal bars of the cell as if to emphasize her point.

Charles heard a mumbled thought of "I'm a gentleman," from a tall and bespectacled young man, perhaps a few years younger than Charles, in his early twenties. Raven was still staring death down upon him. He was very glad that the muscular young pirate had put him in a separate cell to the others, else he knew that Raven would have her hands wrapped around his neck right now. Silence fell and Charles waited.

"Are you quite finished now, Raven?" She stuck her bottom lip out.

"I'm still mad at you, Charles."

"I never dared hope otherwise." He managed amiably, feeling the relief in Raven's thoughts regardless of her word. He winced as he shifted to sit more upright, reached for the pail of water nearby to splash his face with. The ropes were too tight for him to undo with his teeth, and he honestly couldn't be bothered to move towards the other cell for help.

"What did I miss?" he asked. It was the gangly young man who spoke.

"Nothing, really. You've been out for quite a while, I'd say at least four hours. You were carried in all bloodied and limp by one of the crew. He propped you up in that corner and then left without a word. From what I can tell, they're taking us out into open sea. That's it, really." Charles nodded.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think we've been properly acquainted," Charles said. The young man's jaw worked and he pushed his glasses up his nose with a fist.

"McCoy. H-Hank McCoy." He smiled down at Charles from behind the bars.

"Charles. Pleased to meet you." He nodded at the young man. A girl with dark hair pushed her way towards the bars, brown eyes filed with fear.

"Excuse me sir, but what do we do? I don't want to die, sir." Charles looked up at her, and touched gently at her mind. Angelique, a servant girl whose master was thrown overboard, and wore a heavy woolen shift despite the heat to cover the intricate tattoos -that weren't just tattoos- of wings on her back. Her earnest terror pounded through her veins like spun sugar.

"There's nothing that we can do," he said.

"We'll just have to stay here, darling, and wait." He poured a gentle stream of calm into her mind, and she gave a shuddery sigh and nodded. They settled into silence, and waited for the morning to bring absolution.

….

Charles was stirred by the sound of iron scraping against iron, and cracked a crusty eyelid open as he was manhandled yet again into a standing position. It took him a bleary-eyed moment or two to recognize the German-speaking misfit from yesterday, his as chiseled and expressionless as last time. Charles was too sleep-muddled to get a proper reading of the man's mind, and too seedy to muster up a sense of panic.

"We have to stop meeting like this," Charles slurred slightly at the silent man prodding him up the stairs. He looked back at the sound of a sleepy Raven calling "Charles?" after him.

"Keep moving," the man said, jabbing him again. The ship lurched and Charles teetered to the side, almost smacking into the wall. The man caught him however, redirecting Charles back onto his feet with two strong hands on his shoulders.

"Thank you." The sunlight was too bright upon deck and Charles squinted. The crew was spread out across the deck, performing various tasks. One or two looked up at their arrival but otherwise the two were displayed a sort of apathetic indifference. Charles was nudged to the port side of the ship, all the way to the balustrade. He felt the cold sea spray in his face, jolting him fully awake.

"Turn around, please," the man said, and Charles swallowed. He turned his back to the treacherous ocean and received the first –and possibly last- proper look at the man who had been dealing with him so far. He was tall, almost a head taller than Charles, and had a lean yet muscular frame. The man had stormy blue eyes that made Charles want to dig deep into the man's mind and a strong chiseled jawline he had only seen in the half-light of yesterday's sunset. His hair was light brown in colour and tied loosely at the back with a ribbon. The man's expression was blank, bordering on the edge boredom, as he drew a sharp-looking dagger from the belt slung low across his hips. Charles jumped slightly as the man switched it from hand to hand and approached ever closer, until they were almost chest-to-chest.

"Are you going to kill me?" he asked, his blue eyes widened but not fearful. No, his eyes brimmed with defiance that left the man temporarily at a stand still. Charles held his breath, suddenly aware of the pulse flying in his neck, of the beating of his heart in his chest, of the dryness of the roof of his mouth and the chill of the wind against his skin. The man broke his eyes away from Charles' and lifted his bound hands in his own. With a deft flash of silver the thick ropes fell to the deck, and the man stepped away.

"Not today." He picked up a bucket and a filthy rag lying forlornly next to a pile of lashings.

"The good captain decided that it would be better for relations with the other prisoners if you were to learn your place upon the ship, rather than face the more… permanent consequences of other options. As it is, our crew has been lacking a cabin boy, after the last one…. Well, he became rather ill-disposed, shall we say?" The man had made his way back into Charles' personal space again this time extending the rag and bucket towards him. Tentatively, Charles took them. The bucket was heavier than it looked, and soapy water sloshed over the sides. He felt his ears grow pink, and looked up at the man's face. He hadn't the faintest idea what he was meant to do with them.

"I… I don't…" The pirate rolled his eyes and leant in close, until his cheek was inches from Charles', and whispered.

"If I were you, I'd get scrubbing."

"Ah. Indeed."

…

The midday sun was beating down on Charles' back worse than a cat o' nine tails as he worked at a suspicious dark stain on the quarterdeck. The water in the bucket had long since turned black and rust colored from the absurd accumulation of grime upon the ships deck and was the approximate temperature necessary to brew a cup of earl grey tea. A few steps away, the tall man was leaning casually against the balustrade, shaded by the mainsail and nonchalantly biting into an apple. Even from the obscurity of the shadow, Charles could feel the man's unblinking stare upon him. It was unnerving.

"You know, I'm no expert on piracy, or even on ships," he began, sitting back on his haunches and wiping one filthy hand across his brow.

"But I cannot help in thinking that watching a cabin boy scrub the deck is not a task high enough on the priority list that it requires someone full time." The man took another crisp bite of the apple before answering.

"Captain's orders. I'm to watch over you, make sure you don't try anything funny." Charles snorted.

"Do I really seem like that much of a threat?" He asked, dunking the rag into the bucket and wringing out the opaque water. The man snorted.

"Something like that. The captain was adamant, and you never question the captain. Believe me, this is as fun to me as it is to you."

It was Charles' turn to snort.

"Wonderful. I'm being babysat by pirates like a badly behaved puppy." Charles saw the man's lips quirk up at one side.

"I was thinking more like an indignant kitten." Charles smiled.

"Such cheek for a pirate!"

"I try."

Charles paused momentarily, before smiling into the shadow and straightening his back into some semblance of respectability. He braced his hands on his knees and hung the rag over the edge of the bucket.

"I'm Charles." The other man was silent for a moment.

"Erik Lensherr."

"A pleasure."

Charles didn't notice the shadow that swept across him until it was too late, and he was caught unawares by the boot to his back. It shoved him forward roughly and Charles barely caught himself with his hands.

"Get back to work!" A deeply-accented voice grunted from above him, and the man pressed down harder upon his back. The sing of metal brought the pressure to a standstill.

"I could say the same to you, Azazel." The man's -Erik's- voice hissed venomously above him. Charles couldn't turn his head to look above, so he reached out with his mind to the man- a teleporter, apparently- who had his foot still wedged on his back, even if he wasn't trying to grind Charles' face down into it anymore. He looked through the man's eyes, and saw the shining length of a sword pressed to his throat, saw the cold, elegant lines of Erik's arm holding it up. Erik's eyes narrowed.

"It is my job to keep the new cabin boy in check, Azazel. You would do well to remember yours." Charles could practically taste the menace dripping from Erik's words. Azazel's lips twisted in what seemed to be his idea of a smile.

"Of course, comrade," he said, and dissipated with a soft crack and a whisp of red smoke.

Charles sat back up on his haunches, rubbing his wrists.

"Charming fellow," he said, watching Erik as he continued to glare at the place where the teleporter had stood moments ago.

"You learn how to deal with the scum of the earth very quickly here," he said, and his eyes locked down on Charles. Charles let the small smile curl onto his face, and reached out to brush against Erik's mind.

_Well, thank you,_ he projected, and if Erik was surprised it did not show on his face. He nodded once, and then retreated back to his shadows like a wolf to its lair.

Lunch was served from a large, steaming pot on the deck. The crew lined up haphazardly up and down the swaying floorboards, jostling and pushing forward. They joined the end of the line, Erik pressing a chipped bowl into his hands.

"Keep your head down," Erik muttered, "and try not to gag on the smell. I'll be right back."

Charles did as he said quickly, watching Erik's behind as he quickly stalked away. _Not bad_, he thought, and blushed in mortification at himself. He followed the line as it eeked its way forward. Someone barged into him, laughing as they joined the line, and he looked over his shoulder and quickly back, cursing himself for forgetting Erik's words. The laughing stilled.

"What're _you_ lookin' at, bub?" Charles looked slowly back over his shoulder. An incredibly built, incredibly hairy man wearing little other than breeches and boots was looming over him, eyes narrowed. Another man stood by his side, better dressed and wearing some strange red ocular equipment across his face. Charles opened and closed his mouth like a fish.

"I'm so sorry, I never meant to offend…. I'm, I'm Charles. Charles Xavier." He extended his pale hand hopefully towards the hairy man. Somehow, he narrowed his eyes further, eyes flicking from hand to face. He engulfed Charles hand in his own, pumping it once.

"Howdy, kid. I'm wolverine." Charles heard a derisive noise escape the man at wolverine's side.

"Stop being such an ass, Logan." He punched him on the arm and Wolverine, or Logan, Charles wasn't sure which he was meant to use, raised his shoulders in mock defense.

"Aw, gimme a break, I just wanted to rile the new kid up a little bit!"

"Sure. I'm Scott," the other man said, leaning forward and taking Charles' other hand in his own.

"And this idiot here is Logan." Charles smiled.

"A pleasure to meet you both." Charles paused. Should he…?

"Dare I ask, gentlemen, what it is that you are both… Capable of?"

A twin pair of grins broke across their faces like dawn.

"We make things difficult." Logan said, and Charles believed him. It was at that moment that Erik returned, a look of disbelieving horror developing on his face like a black-and-white photo.

"I leave you alone for five minutes, Charles, five bleeding minutes, and you manage to befriend the two most annoying people aboard this whole ship, nay, in this whole bloody ocean."

"Ah, mister Lensherr, glad to see that the stick-out-of-ass procedure didn't work. I've missed your sunny personality." Logan said cheerfully.

"As beloved as a case of the measles," Scott agreed, grinning at him in a fashion that more resembled baring his teeth. Charles couldn't help but smile, and settled into what felt like the most normal conversation of the last twenty-four hours.

***A.N. Next chapter soon! I have art for this story posted on tumblr as well, link in the next chapter. Reviews please, people? I just want to know what everyone is thinking so far! :)


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"Charles, I don't like this. I don't like this at all." It was early in the morning, pale streams of sunlight pushing weakly through the timber of the hull. Raven had been expressing verbal and non-verbal worry at him in an emotional flood since she had woken up in her cell. This was the twenty-third time since he was returned to the brig last night that she had expressed her explicit dislike of the situation, and frankly Charles was getting tired of explaining himself. He took her hands through the bars of the cells and met her eyes.

"Raven darling, I've already said this, I have no choice. They don't intend to kill me. We'll just have to wait it out for as long as it takes the imperial fleet to catch up to us- I'm sure that they will have found our poor vessel by now."

"But Charles if I volunteered up there-"

"No, Raven, you are my sister, and you are far safer down here."

"But Charles-"

"No."

"But-" He put a finger over her lips.

"Stay." She jerked her face away from it angrily, and glared at him. He pressed her still clasped hand against his cheek and sighed into her touch, his eyes pleading.

"Please."

They both turned at the sound of a throat being cleared. Erik was standing there, holding his iron door open expectantly. Charles could see the man's knuckles white against the bars and brushed gently against his consciousness. He felt the man's- disappointment?- building brick fortresses around his mind, blocking out all of his other thoughts from Charles. He didn't want to press, lest Erik should sense him. He had always thought it a bit rude, to pry so intimately where others didn't want him. He stepped away from Raven and let her hand drop back by her side. She slipped back from the bars, wary eyes upon the pirate, and slid in next to Hank. Charles lips quirked at the way her hand twitched away from the tentative touch of his long fingers against her own. Charles mustered his energy, turning out of the door and smiling at Erik as he proceeded up the stairs.

….

"Your hands."

Charles looked up from his work. It was his fourth day as what he could only deem the ship's resident janitor, for he certainly was no cabin boy, and the ship seemed to permanently require someone scrubbing at it. The spiteful thing bred filth like clouds bore rain. Today, Charles was in the cargo hold, large barrels of provisions and gunpowder on all sides. When no elaboration seemed forthcoming, he cleared his throat.

"What about my hands?" He asked. Today, Erik was perched, feet up, on a large barrel of gunpowder, cleaning his pistol in what Charles considered to be a laughably dangerous way. At least it made it easier for Charles to clean around the barrel, which he was doing just then. The man grunted, without looking up.

"They're not worker hands. They're soft, and clean."

Charles laughed.

"Well they certainly don't feel like it today," he replied, turning back to his bucket. Liza, he had decided to name it. Every day the water was changed in the bucket, and every day the water was too black to see through before he had even really started his work. Perhaps he was doing it all wrong.

"Not my point." Erik said, swinging his legs around and leaning over the short distance to put his face in front of Charles'.

"You do not speak like a worker. You do not dress like a worker, however filthy you may look now. And your hands-" he took one hand in his own and turned it over, palm facing up, and traced his fingers over Charles' knuckles.

"-are not worker's hands." He looked up into Charles' eyes, and Charles could feel himself cascading over in their cloudy blue depths.

"So I ask you, Charles, who were you before you joined us in hell?" Charles' brain was stuttering under the proximity and he felt himself turning pink. He attempted to reason his reaction away. Perhaps he had heatstroke, or scurvy, or rickets, something. But underneath the heap of his frantic hypotheses, one thought was steadily becoming louder. _Oh dear_.

"Uuuuuuuuh…." Charles worked his mouth open and shut silently, searching for words. The man waited, his intense gaze locked on Charles like nothing else existed. He looked down at his knees, unable to meet Erik's eyes.

"I… I was the heir to the Xavier-Marko slaving fortune," he said, pausing briefly to gather his life story together. "But I didn't want it. I couldn't just accept riches that were made on the back of hundreds of human being's misery. It was blood money. So I refused it, and my stepfather turned me out. Raven also. Something about never letting an undeserving woman possess the hard earned money of a man."

Charles' lip curled in a bitter smirk. "I probably sound like a spoiled brat to you."

Erik shook his head. "Not at all. You did the noble thing, Charles. And the young lady… Raven, you said?" The man seemed to stiffen a little at her mention, and Charles was tempted to brush at his mind, but no. That would be impolite.

"Yes, well, she loves me regardless of my fortunes. She sort of has to, I suppose," Charles laughed. "I still can't believe she chose to come with me instead of stay, even without the fortune."

Charles sighed, and smiled again, genuinely this time. He looked up at Erik's intent and stony face. He tampered down the unbecoming flip flop of his stomach as he did so. Erik's mouth quirked at the side.

"I wish that I had your freedom, Charles." Charles felt the man's bitterness as much as he could see it on his face. A frown tugged at Charles' forehead, and he pouted a little.

"Whatever do you mean, Erik? What led you to join the Hellfire?"

Erik's eyes went dark as though a cloud passed over the sun inside them. The small quirk in the corner of his lips (the closest to a smile that Charles had managed to see) disappeared.

" I can't- I've never talked about it- I don't….." Charles could feel the confliction washing out from Erik like waves upon a shore. There was desire, and definite want, but fear and pain buried in there also. Charles slid a hand up across Erik's cheek, and Charles' stomach gave a hopeful leap when the man subconsciously leant into it.

"May I…?" Erik knew what he was asking, and he nodded against Charles' hand, his eyes drifting closed. He gasped as Charles closed his eyes, joining them together. It was incredible; Charles had never experienced so much emotion and chaos. Images smacked him in the face with machine-gun pace. Erik as a boy; his father's grave left behind in distant soils; a ship towards new hope and new opportunity; his mother's hand in his own, her voice singing softly in his ear; smoke, gunpowder, screaming, Erik begging with a man in white to keep his mother; her body crumpling like a woolen coat onto the deck; Erik's face, tear-strewn and too young, as the white man in a metal helmet led him away; blood, loss, pain, torture at the hands of this monster, unable to fight back, unable to escape, trying to unlock the power in his fragile body by twisting and pulling and prodding and slicing.

And then Charles was back on the deck, shaking slightly, his hand still cupped around Erik's face. Their foreheads were touching, and Charles could feel the way Erik's chest heaved in time with his own. He let his hand drop, and wiped at his wet cheeks. Erik's eyes were still closed, his face bowed. Charles' breathing was running ragged.

"I'm so sorry, my friend," Charles murmured. Erik raised his head, a mask fallen into place again.

"Now you know." He said simply. His voice was low, and raw.

"Even after all this time, he's kept you…?"

"Yes."

Charles could feel the residual link fading, the emotions dulling away to the regular baseline he could feel everyday. Erik stood up and started walking away.

"Where are you going, Erik?"

"I'm going to find a nice large bottle of rum. Don't kill anyone while I'm gone, alright?" Charles reached after him with his mind, tried to send him warmth and comfort, but was sent reeling backwards by a solid wall of anger.

_Stay out of my mind, Charles. _

Erik disappeared around a corner, delving further into the belly of the ship. Charles sat for a moment, staring after his only real friend in a long time and worried that he'd just lost him, then turned back to his long forgotten bucket –Liza- and resumed his work. He shivered as a cold, hard presence pressed into his mind like a crystalline knife.

_I wondered how long it would be before you noticed me_, he thought to the telepath.

**_Oh honey, I've known about you the entire time you've been here. You just caught my attention with your little mind-melding session over there. Not exactly going for subtlety with one of those, sweetheart._**

Charles continued to rub at the grime stuck between two boards, ignoring the cold sweat breaking out on his skin.

_Is there something that you want, madam?_ He asked, gritting his teeth together at the icy laugh that bounced around in his head.

**_Just a civilized conversation, really. So hard to find on a ship such as this. How's your friend treating you?_**

Charles sighed. Something about the unfamiliar presence made him feel like he could tell her anything, but that was probably just a part of her glamour.

_Wonderfully, really, but I think that I just ruined whatever friendship may have been there._

**_You know, I was completely supportive of the captain's decision to throw you overboard. See if little British boys are taught to swim. But it was your friend there, Erik, who convinced him otherwise. Just some food for thought, sugar_**.

Her presence faded, and Charles was left more confused than he had bargained for.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

The two were at an impasse for the next two days. Erik sat in silence nearby, going about any number of mundane tasks, whilst Charles continued his forced crusade against grime and avoided staring at Erik's neck. No one bothered Charles after Erik's last sword-wielding outburst. He was all but left to his own devices. Charles was tempted, several times, to reach out with his mind and touch the man, but he held back. Erik had asked him not to, and so he would refrain from prying. It was only on the third day that the unspoken arrangement was broken. They were on the top deck, Charles polishing the wooden balustrades and Erik slowly making his way through what seemed to be the ships entire armory. Piles of deadly metal lay scattered across the deck like a dragon's hoard. He had spent the last half an hour buffing a beautifully crafted but tarnished sabre, intricately worked and far above the pay grade quality of a pirate. Stolen then, Charles presumed, from another innocent vessel long since buried in the deep. It did not stop Charles from admiring the weapon, though. The words had slipped from his lips before he even had time to think.

"What a beautiful weapon." Erik looked up.

"Have you ever used one?" Charles scoffed at him, indignant.

"Please. I've had fencing lessons since I was seven."

Erik's back arched like a drawn bow as he straightened from the balustrade. He lifted the weapon in his hand, movements smooth and predatory, and rounded on Charles. He stilled, weapon at the ready, and wiggled his eyebrows.

"Come on then," he said, and Charles put down his rag.

"Surely you're joking." Erik didn't answer, only raised his eyebrows further and tilted his head towards a pile of sheathed swords.

"But I have so much more to do…" he protested weakly. Erik waved away his inhibitions airily.

"Oh, come on, I'll help you finish it. Just a round or two."

Charles sighed outwardly and trudged over to the pile, but inside his heart was pounding and his breathing was hitching. Not in a bad way. In excitement, more than anything, he thought as he selected a blade and slipped into a familiar stance, chest broadened and shoulders straight, weight placed slightly forward on the balls of his feet. Erik watched him like a monster in the dark, eyes cold but bright with calculation. The first strike was lightning fast; silver arcing towards him from the right with deadly force. Charles was faster though, parrying easily and delighting in the sonorous ring of metal on metal. His counter attack was even swifter, Erik barely managing to duck underneath. He swung low at Charles' legs and Charles leapt above the attack, knees tucking and rolled across the deck to Erik's right, swords meeting again as he righted in a crouch. Erik was surprised at Charles' agility, and showed his teeth in a hearty acceptance of the challenge. No matter how hard and swift and viciously he swung his blade, Erik could not catch the man. Even when he began fighting dirty, trying to trip Charles over and stomp on his feet, he didn't falter, just kept his counterattack firm and complementary. Erik's respect for the man was steadily climbing as the minutes wore on, grin spreading as the beads of sweat formed on their skin like pearls. He saw a single drop slide down the smooth curve of Charles neck, catching on his collarbone, and almost allowed Charles a blow to ribs. This was getting rather distracting, and he could see a fresh glint in his opponent's crystalline eyes. It was high time to bring out the big guns.

Charles let out an unmanly squeal as his sword wriggled in his hand like a snake, dropping it on the deck with a clang. His hands felt like they were covered in creepy crawlies and he shook them a little as his sword continued to writhe around. His eyes shot up to Erik at the sound of the other man's hysterical laughter. Charles looked on in disbelief as Erik doubled over, his rich, belting laugh burbling across the deck. He tried to straighten up and over balanced slightly, his sword forgotten in his hands, and Charles took a moment to memorise the way the crinkles formed around his eyes, and the way a dimple flashed in the corner of his mouth. Erik extended a hand and the sword sailed into the air of it's own accord. He plucked it from the air like a sprig of jasmine from a wandering arch. Charles breathed out an amazed chuckle, still panting from exertion.

"That's… That's magnificent, my friend. You are truly magnificent." Erik paused, an wondrous expression upon his face that made Charles feel as though he had never been looked at before.

"You're not so bad yourself… friend."

Charles took the man's hand in his own and vigorously shook it, and didn't fail to notice their dopey lingering smiles as they finished with the balustrades.

….

Charles looked up sharply at the sudden influx of excited thoughts on deck, eyes snapping onto the focus of the commotion in moments. The setting sun leeched blood red light across the deck, throwing the faces of those involved into sharp relief, but Charles was becoming familiar enough with the feel of the ship's minds that he could identify the majority of them in a moment. At the centre of it all was the young servant girl, Angelique, her thoughts hardened to the point of brittleness with resolve. On the far side of the deck the captain emerged from his cabin, followed closely by the immaculate telepath.

"What have we here?" the captain asked, his expression of polite confusion barely covering the overwhelming sense of unrest he instilled in others. Angelique pulled her arm out of the grip of a man covered in thin spikes like a porcupine and stepped forward, cheeks puffy from crying but defiance in the set of her shoulders.

"I give up. I want to join your crew." She said, and Charles cursed quietly. He knew that more prisoners would follow now that the girl had joined them.

"Ah," the captain said, teeth bared obscenely. "Wonderful. Let us hope that your example is well accepted by the other guests, and helps them to see the error in their ways. Come now child, let us get you some fresh clothing." He held out his hand, and the girl took it gently, her filthy bare feet padding across the deck as he led her back to his quarters. The blonde stared down the crew, fallen still and silent, and then turned on her heel. A piercing shard of icy pain exploded Charles head, magnified by the myriad of other minds around him, and a collective cry rent through the mutants, some staggering, others collapsing on their knees. Charles leaned heavily into Erik, eyes wide and air stuck in his throat, frozen with agony. It ceased as the cabin door slammed shut behind her white boots, and the crew scurried to work quickly. Charles' head felt like it had been split open, and wondered whether it was possible to bruise your brain.

"Come on, Charles, we have to get back to work," Erik nudged him gently with his shoulder, and Charles rubbed at his temples and nodded. He focused first upon getting air back into his body and then slowly straightened up. Erik touched his arm as he stumbled towards the balustrade again.

"Charles, are you…?" Charles could feel the concern in Erik's words.

"Yes, yes, Erik, I'm fine thank you," he said, his voice hoarse to his own ears. He picked up the cleaning rag yet again and was hit with a wave of nausea, leaning against the balustrade, knuckles white against the dark wood.

"Telepathic-induced pain is just more severe on me, with so many others around."

Erik's hand whispered against his shoulder blades for a brief moment but jerked away again, unsure.

They spent what little remained of the daylight in silence, Charles sensing Erik's concerned gaze far more often than he actually caught it.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

The ship was wracked with ear-splitting cracks. The boom of cannonfire filled the still night. Charles jerked awake in his miniscule cot in the brig, heart hammering. Raven was sitting up a few feet away in her true form, yellow eyes shining through in the dark, the soft whisper of her ruined silk gown drowned out by the battle above. Distant shouts and bloodstained thoughts volleyed through Charles with such overwhelming speed that he felt light headed. He whimpered, pressing his knuckles against his temples ferociously.

"Charles, what's going on?" Others were starting to stir in Raven's cell; A young blonde boy who had identified himself as Alexander, and proceeded to exile himself to one corner of the cell; a red-headed youth named Sean who never stopped talking; Hank, his round glasses askew on his nose.

"There's a battle," he breathed, frowning against the onrush. "Up on deck." He hissed suddenly, awareness that Erik may be in danger freezing his blood.

Charles jumped through the viewpoints of three different mutants, including Scott (-_Charles get out of my head what are you doing you don't want to see this-)_ and an innocent human before catching sight of Erik. He was standing at the side of Captain Shaw, his face pale with horror even in the moonlight. The captain's hand was against Erik's back, and Charles felt the telepath's torturous hold in his friend's mind. Charles borrowed a young blue-skinned teleporter's eyes, standing meekly behind the captain and his subject. He was close enough to hear Shaw whisper in his ear,

"Now, Erik. Do it." A muscle twitched in Erik's neck.

"I can't…" Charles heard the sharp blast of the telepath tearing at Erik's pain receptors, and barely kept himself from rushing in, all fires blazing, and forcing her out of Erik by sheer will. The worst of it all was the way Erik barely even seemed to care. He didn't care because Shaw had done worse to him, and he had done it so often, and for so long, that Erik had accepted it as normality. He wanted to repair all of the damage inflicted upon Erik over the years, piece him back together and fill him with the warmth of care.

"You are _above_ them, Erik. They are little more than animals compared to our glory. Do it _now_." Shaw's teeth were grinding together. Charles heard the broken noise escape Erik's lips, saw his shoulders slump and then the wiry muscles of his back bunch together.

The other vessel shook momentarily, like a child being punished, then without pomp or ceremony, the ship seemed to just… dissolve into the dark waters. It took a moment to make out the thousands of nails, struts and hinges suspended in the air, all of which had simultaneously pulled themselves out of their place in the ship. The water seethed with sailors and passengers alike. Erik was shaking as he dropped his raised hands sharply, the shrapnel shooting towards the water below. The screams from bellow drew silent, and Shaw patted him on the back.

Charles withdrew from his host's mind, breathing in the warm, familiar smells of the brig, and an internal resolution was drawn.

…

"I saw what you did last night." Erik refused to look up from his work. Charles had stripped down to his dress shirt and breeches as the merciless sun bore down upon them the next day, his deep blue coat carefully folded and lain across a barrel filled with cannonballs. The deck was still wet with last night's gore, but Charles was used to cleaning up horrifying things by now that he simply focused on what he was about to say.

"I saw what he did to you, Erik. I felt what he did to you."

"I told you to stay out of my head," Erik said. He was gruff this morning and on edge, dark circles underneath eyes that darted to everywhere but Charles. Irritation took root in Charles' stomach, and put his hand on Erik's knee without thought. That got Erik's attention.

"Erik, _I know you_," He started, holding Erik's gaze. "I know all of your pain, all of your suffering at the hands of Shaw. Erik, you do not need to fear him. We can make things right here."

"What are you getting at, Charles?"

"Erik, you are so strong, and brave, and the crew obviously respects you, they would follow you anywhere-" Erik stood, suddenly, towering over Charles. His shoulders were shaking and his eyes kept darting behind Charles and then back to him, wide and full of something that Charles didn't recognize.

"You don't know anything about me, Charles, and you would do well to keep your poisonous thoughts to yourself." He hissed at him. Charles knew he was losing him, he hadn't worded it right, maybe Charles had picked Erik too soon, oh God, he just needed to get through to Erik that what Shaw was doing was wrong and that he didn't deserve it, no one deserved to feel that pain.

"Erik, please, just listen to me-"

"Return yourself to the brig, Charles. You have done enough for today." Erik wheeled away, stalking across the deck, and Charles' coat flew at him, metal buttons first. It slid into place around his body and tugged him along, back towards the stairs like a straightjacket, and Charles cursed ever deciding that silver would look nicer than plain wooden buckles. In an act of desperation Charles reached for Erik's mind, a thousand confusing things hitting him in an instant; pain, terror, resolution, conflict, care,worry, finality. Then he was turned out by Erik, and all he could do was be led, frightened and betrayed and sick to his core, back to step one.

*** A.N. Sorry its so short! I'm building up in the next chapter, THERE WILL BE CHERIK SOON MY LOVELIES!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Erik clutched the ship's balustrade until his fingers were numb. How dare Charles, smiling, naïve little charles, look at him that way, like Erik is the only thing that has ever been important in the world. How dare he twist his fingers in his hair when he was thinking, how dare he smile with such openness and warmth, always warmth, at Erik. How dare this young man with such hope in him enter Erik's life and drag him, hand over foot, out of his emptiness, where all the injustices, small and large, meant nothing. How dare he offer to share with Erik his warmth, Erik, who had thrived on being alone in the dark for as long as he dared to think about.

And then, to suggest something that had always been a pipe dream to him, to make him feel as though it could be possible…

No. Who was he kidding? Erik had known for a while that he had the capability to do it. He had watched the monstrous captain tear through fleets and torture those loyal to him, just to maintain solidarity. Just for fun.

Erik could do it, this he knew. He could do it himself, a flick of his wrist and the man could be a pincushion, or slashed to ribbons, or crushed to pulp beneath the mast. Erik probably wouldn't live to see his accomplishment, though.

The captain had been listening to their conversation from its very beginning. Erik had seen him, Shaw's piercing eyes boring into Charles as the smaller man blindly talked himself towards a traitor's death. Erik had resorted to the only means he knew, the only path he had ever learned, to protect Charles. He tried to hurt him, to break him. He turned as cold and hard and unyielding as the metal he had the power to wield with a thought. But Charles kept pushing, kept using that _stupid mouth of his_, and Erik could think of nothing more than to drag his friend away from him as quickly as possible, away from Shaw.

He had to protect Charles, even if it meant losing him forever. Charles would be fine. Erik knew that. He had managed to survive the world this long without his help, and he had the Raven girl, who obviously cared about him. They would escape and all would be well.

"Erik, Erik, Erik," a voice said at his shoulder. White gloved hands appeared next to his on the balustrade. "Whatever are we to do with you?"

Erik frowned minutely. His hand twitched towards the dagger at his side. He had to time this perfectly, choose his moment, wait it out…

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean, captain." Shaw's lips curled up at the sides, a look of wistfulness sitting incongruously on his face like a beggar amongst kings.

"After all these years together, after all of the times I have cared for you, looked only for your improvement and helped you understand your own powers in a way that you never could have on your own… After all of the loyalty I have shown to you, all of the dedication, all it takes is a few days with some pretty little cabin boy to turn you against me?"

Erik doesn't think, just swings at his captor, mentor, tormentor, with all of his force. He stops dead a mere hairsbreadth away from Shaw's face, frozen in place.

"Thank you, Emma," Shaw says, straightening with a victorious look in his eye.

"Isn't it nice to have a pet telepath, Erik? I know I deeply enjoy the company of mine. Rather silly of you to tuck him back in the brig." Erik lowers the dagger according to crystalline messages that are not his own, and his legs strode towards the Captain's chambers without his consent.

"You leave him alone. He has nothing to do with this." Erik ground out, receiving an eye-bursting shaft of pain in his skull. Shaw chuckled.

"I think that we ought to continue this conversation somewhere more _comfortable_, don't you?" He opened the door, letting Erik in, and then Erik is on his knees, screaming soundlessly as the door snicks shut.

…

Charles paced, his hands running through his hair and his mouth half-forming ideas before throwing them away.

"Plan, plan, we need a plan, we need out, we need it now, plan, plan-"

"Charles."

"WHAT?"

"Charles, what's wrong?"Charles tears his fingers through his curls yet again.

"We need to get out of here, Raven, as soon as we can, all of us, we cannot stay here. We need help. Who can provide us with help… Who….."

Hank shuffled his feet and Charles heard his excited thoughts. He saw flags and muskets and Charles stilled.

"…Who have you called to help us, Mr. Mccoy?" Charles said slowly, dread adding itself to the cocktail of adrenalin-charged emotions. Hank looked up at him, startled, and smiled unsurely. Charles fixed him with an iron stare that he had recently learned.

"I… Uh… I've been helping the imperial fleet to track us," Hank said. He adjusted his glasses and laughed nervously.

"If my calculations are correct- which they almost always are- and the fleet has been picking up my jerry-rigged buoys from the water like they have been the last few days, they should catch us by tonight. Admiral Stryker will free us, and these lunatics will be punished accordingly, and all will be well again."

Charles could not believe what he was hearing. His knees went to mush and he leant against the bars, feeling physically sick. Raven took his hands squeezing them.

"Hank, what have you done," he managed weakly.

"Do you know what Admiral William Styker does with mutants? Innocent or guilty?" The young man's eyes widened behind his glasses.

"But he's a leader of the imperial fleet! He's been awarded medals for nobility and bravery-"

"He's going to string us all up like animals!" Charles cried. His shoulders shook and his head bowed. He felt a tiny hand in his hair, playing gently against his scalp.

"Charles," raven murmured gently. "Charles, it will be alright. We'll think of something. Don't fret, brother dear, help will come." He took a deep breath.

"You're right. Of course you're right. I'll just… I'll just call in the cavalry then." He pressed two fingers to his temple and sought for the minds of his friends, looking for Scott and Logan and anyone else Erik had introduced him to over the last few weeks.

"You really need to give us a bit more credit, bub."

Charles cracked his neck as he looked towards the speaker. Logan, Scott, and several other mutants stood outside the cells, a ring of keys jangling around Logan's finger. Charles smiled as a plan began to form in the recesses of his mind.

"I hope you're as good at making messes as you say you are."

…..

Erik's throat was raw. Nothing was working in his body, his organs betraying him without the slightest concern to their owner's wellbeing. His muscles spasmed and writhed involuntarily as his body fought against the alien presence stilling their movement. He was on his knees, his back slick with cold sweat and his chest heaving, struggling to breathe. Emma had grown stronger since his last encounter. Shaw's white boots paced in front of him, a tsking noise coming from above him.

"You know, Erik, my patience with you is wearing extremely thin." A hand fisted in the back of his hair, wrenching his neck backwards, and Erik barely even cared anymore. All that was left was resignation, deep in his very core, and an intent that he would take down Shaw with him.

Every piece of metal in the room vibrated in its place. The hand tightened in his hair until he swore he felt his scalp bleeding. The warm stickiness pooling in his temple confirmed that theory.

"In fact, I think it may have run its course altogether."

This is it, he thought, and closed his eyes as a cold metal edge pressed against his throat. He swallowed, adam's apple bobbing against the blade's edge. How he wished he could turn that knife on him, how he wished he could flick it away from himself, feel it sink into Shaw's chest as if he had buried it there with his own hands.

_Sorry, sugar, not today._ Erik spewed venomous thoughts at the telepath.

A cry filled the air, the clanging of metal and gunfire wriggling under the cabin door. The knife withdrew.

"What in damnation is going on?" Erik discovered to his own relief that he was able to bend his neck of his own accord. Emma's eyes were outside, and her face was confused.

"I… I don't know…"

Shaw growled in frustration. Emma shifted to diamond form as Shaw made for her. He swung a large leather belt strung with pistols over his shoulder, and opened the door to the chaos.

"You and I are going to sort this out, Miss Frost. In the mean time, fetch Azazel would you?" The telepath whistled, and Azazel appeared in a smug crack of red smoke.

"Guard him!" the captain ordered, and the door slammed. The telepath's grasp on his mind slipped away.

….

"Where is Erik?" Charles asked Logan as they pounded up the narrow staircase. They could hear the battle on deck from there, having hung back in order to provide distraction. Logan grunted, throwing a short-fused cannonball into what Charles thought was the galley.

"Last I saw of that asshole, he was trying to go Brutus n' Cassius on the captain. They took him to Shaw's chambers after that for some of the Captain's choicest _therapy methods_." Charles felt a wave of nausea building in the pit of his stomach, weighting his feet so it felt as though he was walking through glue. He fought against it._ Notthetimenotthetimegohelphi mgohelphimgohelphimohgod. _

"Charles. Calm down, Charles. You're currently crapping panic in my mind like yesterday's lunch." Scott's voice was firm, dragging him back to the present. Charles retracted his overflowing emotions.

"Sorry. I just- I need to- Can you please-?" Words failed him as he launched himself upstairs, leaving them in his dust.

He burst through the door onto the deck. Utter bedlam had broken out everywhere, Charles barely able to discern friend from foe as swords, guns, and various combative powers threw themselves across the deck in a deadly dance. He darted through the shifting death trap, averting arms and blades with a thought or two.

"CHARLES! Do you know where Raven is?" Hank, disheveled and panting swung into his path. His glasses were askew and one lens was cracked. Speaking was too time consuming. He pushed Raven's location into Hank's brain, not even stopping for the young man.

"Oh! Don't worry about it Charles, I remembered!" Hank bounded away, his too-large feet carrying him ridiculous distances in a few strides. Charles' breath was held and his lungs shrieking as he slammed his back against the wall next to the cabin door. He felt for consciousness in the room and brushed against an exhausted Erik and someone else, Charles bidding them to sleep before he even bothered to check who it was. He pushed through the door.

….

"Charles?" Erik felt the smaller man's hands under his arms, pulling him up from the floor like a rag doll. Charles had surprising strength for such a slight man, Erik thought. He smelled of hay and gunpowder and something uniquely Charles that Erik was in fact finding rather attractive (and promptly loathed himself over). Erik listed to the side and tried to correct his movements with dignity. He didn't want Charles to see him like this. Charles was streaming a steady flow of words- or maybe it wasn't words, maybe it was thoughts being poured out like clear water over his mind- and it took Erik a few moments to comprehend bits and pieces of it.

"Oh god, Erik, you stupid man, I told you I wanted to help you, you didn't have to try this alone, oh god whatever have they done to you, Erik speak to me please…."

Erik staggered away from the warmth of Charles body supporting him, clasping onto a severe wooden desk. His head felt like it had been pounded in by a meat mallet and then pieced back together with a blacksmith's iron.

" I'm… I'm _fine_, Charles… You have to go, leave the ship as soon as you can…" Small hands brushed against his back, tugging at his shirt, turning him around. Erik looked down at Charles' chest. He couldn't bear those eyes.

"You're not fine, Erik, there is no point in lying about it, and there is no way I am stepping off this ship without you. Come with me, Erik, we can leave together." His voice was pleading, his hands drawing themselves up across his collarbones trying to draw him out of the door for all the world as though he cared for him. Goddammit, like he bloody well didn't have his fiancée fighting for his cause on the other side of the door. Erik couldn't stand it.

"I couldn't, Charles, even if I wanted to!" He burst, although in his state it was more of a pitiful croak. His shoulders sagged in on themselves.

"Just go. Save your precious little Raven. I'll deal with the crew. Just go, please!" A ridiculous snort of frustration slipped from Charles, followed swiftly by an

"Oh for God's sake, Erik-" And then a hand was wound around his neck, pulling his tender body downwards to press fiercely against Charles' lips. He could feel the terrified flutter of Charles pulse as his own, could taste the overwhelming desire on his tongue, could feel Charles hand clutching the hair at the base of his neck in a way entirely different to all that he had ever experienced. It was then, and only then, that he truly realized that Charles wanted Erik as much he wanted the ridiculous, incredible, wayward cabin boy in front of him. Erik was reeling.

Charles pulled back, and much to Erik's own horror he realized that he had not been reciprocating his feelings. Just stood there like a fool. Charles looked up at him, eyes large and frustrated and tear-filled. His hands bunched in the soft fabric of Erik's shirt.

"Don't you understand, Erik? Don't you see?" Erik staggered over what he needed to clarify, tripping over loose strands of thought on his way. His mouth opened and shut uselessly for a moment.

"But… But Raven…. What…?" his hands waved uselessly at his sides as though trying to illustrate his ever-elusive point for him. Charles rolled his eyes.

" I don't know why you're so hung up on her, Erik, she's my sister, not my bloody handler, oh-!"

Erik had found an effective new use for Charles' overactive mouth, and God help him if he wasn't going to use it to his own advantage.


End file.
